As Black As I'm Painted
by Tabari Avaren
Summary: Rated for language, though really more of a strong 'T'. A jarring argument between Harry Potter and Severus Snape sends Hogwarts' Potionsmaster seeking oblivion in liquid form. He is returned to reality by Remus Lupin, and they have a conversation neith


**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling isn't big into angst, so I can say with all honesty that she neither wrote this nor would ever dream of writing this. As Warner Bros. is part of Hollywood, and therefore maudlin by nature, their scriptwriters might someday dream up a tête-à-tête of this fashion, but this wasn't written by them or for them, either. I'm certainly not Mick Jagger, and credit as credit is due for the quote from their lyrics to the song _Paint It Black_. So, essentially, I own nothing, certainly not the rights to a damned thing in this story, but should aliens abduct me I'll be sure to bring a towel.

**Author's Notes:** I don't write angst. I don't like angst. I especially hate it when Lupin and/or Snape angst. Nevertheless, the below Lupin/Snape angst was written by me, and it isn't half bad if I do say so myself.

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**As Black As I'm Painted**

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black  
I see my red door and it has been painted black  
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts  
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black_

_- _Paint It Black_, The Rolling Stones_

The funeral of Sirius Black had taken place three days previously, on a beautiful afternoon in July. Today's rain and drizzle seemed far more appropriate to a funeral, Severus Snape reflected, but Sirius Black's empty coffin had already been buried.

The potions master shrugged off his cloak, soaked with rain, and hung it next to the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, his shoes clicking on the wooden floor. The portrait of Cassiopeia Black did not bother to scream at him these days; even she mourned for her son. The House of Black was in mourning, and had become more oppressive and more gloomy than ever it had been in the past.

Severus Snape sighed heavily as he walked through the entrance hall to the empty corridors, towards the tiny inner courtyard – normally closed off even from the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place – where Sirius Black had been buried. Loath as he was to admit it, the silence of the house disturbed him, and Severus Snape found himself wishing for the noise and clatter of the Weasleys, or for the crazed screams of Cassiopeia Black as blood traitors and mudblood filth gathered round for another Order meeting.

For reasons Severus Snape could not fathom, Albus Dumbledore had sent him alone today. The old Headmaster had perhaps thought that he could heal the wounded bonds between himself and the Boy Who Lived, but in that, Snape thought the leader of the light deluded. There never had been any real ties between Harry Potter and Severus Snape, and whatever links had formed during Potter's schooldays, they had been erased in the winter and spring of his fifth year.

Severus Snape was an Order member, however, one of the most important, and Albus Dumbledore could not accept that even within their own ranks there would be bitter condemnations and infighting.

"Alohamora," Severus Snape rasped, and the dark wall in front of him vanished, revealing a narrow door. He pushed his way through, and the tiny courtyard that served as cemetery for the House of Black appeared before him. The drizzle obscured his vision somewhat, but there was no mistaking the lanky figure standing next to the newest headstone. That shock of black hair had haunted Severus Snape first through his boyhood, and then through his years as Hogwarts potions master.

Severus had tried to move quietly, but Harry Potter whirled around as he stepped into the courtyard, his wand out, his face tensed for a fight. Severus had to admit that the boy's reflexes had improved immensely – his little defense club had helped, of course, but seeing his friends wounded and killed had taught him fear; and it was fear on his face, fear and rage.

When he recognized Severus, however, it became merely rage.

"What are you doing here?" he said, tossing the words out as if they scalded his mouth.

Severus Snape stared at him, and then said softly, "The Headmaster thinks it best that I meet with you, Potter, before you leave for the Weasleys' abode."

The boy did not put down his wand, and much though Severus Snape disliked Harry Potter, he had to give the boy a little grudging respect for that. He was no fool – Harry Potter had little reason to trust Severus Snape, for all the good reasons had been kept from him; it was wise of him to keep that wand up.

"The Headmaster thinks it's best, does he? What about you? Come to gloat over his grave?" Normally Severus would have punished such belligerence in a student, but he could hardly take house points in July.

"I don't gloat, Potter, and I regret the death of an Order member. My personal disputes with Black did not negate the necessity of having as many loyal supporters of the Headmas–"

"If you thought he was such an important Order member, why did you always goad him? If you hadn't told him how useless he was every single time you saw him, he might not be DEAD today!"

"I was not Black's keeper!" Severus shouted, before he could stop himself, before the little Slytherin serpent in him could counsel caution and cunning and patience. His wand was in his hand, too, and he could not see clearly which angry young wizard it was he was looking at – was it Harry Potter, recently bereaved, or was it James, handsome, popular James, out to revenge Lily Evans's honor?

For a moment, Severus Snape was sixteen, and it did not matter that two of his tormentors were in the ground. Anger cleansed his mind of all pertinent thoughts, and he raised his wand –

And dropped it. The flames passed, and Severus Snape withdrew into himself, occluding, shoving every emotion into a clean white box, and burying the box under the sand, where waves would wash over it until the end of time.

The Potter boy was shouting at him, Severus realized.

"YOU WANTED HIM DEAD! I know you did, you hated him, and you WANTED HIM DEAD! Everyone else could forgive, anyone else would have forgot, but not you, you had to hold it against him, hound him to his grave, and here you are to gloat some more! You're a MONSTER!"

Severus could think of nothing to say to this. True, he had been called a monster before, but when it was the Dark Lord, praising his abilities to torture and kill, he could shrug it off like his cloak – shed that black exterior when he returned to the light. But if the light painted him monstrous as well, there would be nowhere to cast off his monstrosity any longer.

"Do you deny it?" Potter said, his wand pointing straight at Severus Snape's heart. His green eyes glittered with rage barely kept beneath the surface, and Severus realized with a start that he might be in some small danger from James Potter's son.

"I did not want Sirius Black dead. I had no love for him, and I did not love seeing my adolescent tormentor once weekly, but I most avowedly did not want him dead." Even to Severus, the refutation sounded weak.

"You didn't give a DAMN whether he died!" Harry shouted, and Severus Snape thought he could hear pain beneath it, agony ripping through the anger. "You bastard! Get out! Get OUT OF HIS HOUSE!"

Severus Snape left the courtyard, closing the door behind him, not waiting to watch it fade back into the wall.

He did not leave the house, however. Instead, he sat in the small parlor beside the courtyard, and poured himself a glass of whiskey, which he downed, and then another one, which he nursed by the fireplace, waiting for Harry Potter to leave his godfather's grave. Severus Snape was on duty for the Order, and he was supposed to stand guard over the boy. He only hoped he'd soon be relieved from duty.

Hours passed, and Severus Snape got drunk as the evening wore on. Still Potter did not come inside, and the potions master considered fetching the boy, ordering him to reenter the dismal house before he caught cold from the miserable weather. The image of the boy's angry eyes and outstretched wand warned him off, however, and Severus still sat, a bottle of whisky and a shotglass at his side as he stared unseeingly at the peeling wallpaper of the neglected parlor.

Severus found himself getting more and more confused, as the night wore on, about which Potter it was waiting outside. The two were so very alike, Severus reflected. The way the hair fell over their faces when they were concentrating. The way their eyes flashed when they were angry. The way they never failed to inspire intense hatred in Severus when he saw their wands pointed at him.

The Hogwarts Potionsmaster allowed himself to wallow in whisky-blurred memories through the afternoon and into the evening, until he did not care that he was expected back at Hogwarts, did not care that he'd left the Boy Who Lived and Future Savior of the World out in the rain weeping over his godfather's grave where no one could see him. He didn't give a damn.

Not until he felt someone shaking him, that is, and he slopped the contents of a half-full whisky glass onto his robes (his seventh? or was it only his sixth?).

Severus looked up, his mind still full of James Potter, and was surprised to see another one of his tormentors gazing down at him, expression unfathomable. "Fuck off, Lupin."

Severus hadn't told anyone to fuck off in a long time. It wasn't like him. Well, it was, but only his adolescent self, who had to resort to muggle curses when he couldn't get at his wand.

Lupin blinked. He'd been told to fuck off by Severus Snape many times, but not for many years. He picked up the whisky bottle (Ogden's Finest) and examined it, an expression of growing concern on his face. "Severus? Are you alright? I was told by Dumbledore you'd be long gone by the time I arrived tonight."

Severus felt like telling Lupin to fuck off again, but he couldn't quite muster the energy. "Where's Potter?" he asked, still not sure which Potter he meant.

Now Lupin looked irritated. Possibly angry, in fact. "You don't know where Harry is? What on earth have you been doing, Severus? Sitting here drinking and not paying attention to –"

Lupin strode out of the room (carrying the whisky, Severus noticed dully) towards the small courtyard, the door slamming shut behind him. A few minutes later, a soaking wet Harry Potter emerged, his hands shoved in his pockets, his overlarge teeshirt clinging to his skinny frame. He looked frigid, Severus noted, and was obviously grateful when Lupin conjured warm air to dry him off.

Severus attempted to eavesdrop, but he couldn't quite make out the quiet conversation between Lupin and Potter (which Potter was it again? oh, yes, the boy), except that Lupin seemed to have calmed the boy down enough that he'd go upstairs into the room he'd used the previous summer. It occurred to Severus that had he done his job properly, the Potter boy would have been at the Weasleys' already.

Severus stared at the fire a little longer, until Lupin came down again, a vial of some potion that Severus vaguely recognized, and sat in the armchair opposite. Lupin had that inscrutable look on his face again, the look that meant he disapproved and was about to give Severus a lecture. Lupin and his bloody lectures, the werewolf thinking he could tell everyone what they ought to do because heaven knows nobody ever did it well enough for Lupin.

"Severus, I think you've had rather a lot to drink tonight," Lupin said conversationally.

Severus said nothing.

"Alright, then, I'll ask: what happened? I know Dumbledore sent you here to reconcile, but you and Harry both look not in the least bit reconciled, so I'll assume that it didn't work out well."

"None of your business," Severus said mulishly, aware that he was being childishly petulant.

"It most certainly is my business, Severus, if two of the most important people in the War are at loggerheads."

Severus threw his empty glass to the floor. It shattered, and the firelight reflected off of the thousands of shimmering fragments. Angrily, Severus stood, and he contemplated walking out of the room altogether. But Lupin still had that infernal expectant look on his face, and Severus knew that it would be forced out of him eventually.

"We didn't reconcile," Severus said grudgingly.

Drily, Lupin replied, "I gathered." Wand out, the former Defense professor repaired the glass and with a flick of his wand sent it back to the table. "Please don't smash that again," he said pleasantly.

"Potter blames me for Black's death. He told me to get out, so I obliged, especially as he looked ready to hex me." Potter had always been ready to hex him, Severus reflected.

"And how long ago was this?"

"What time is it?" Severus asked.

"It is eight in the evening, give or take," Lupin answered.

"Six hours, then."

"You've been sitting in here getting quietly drunk for six hours? While Harry stood out there in the rain freezing to death?"

"I'm a monster," Severus said. He looked down at the glass self-pityingly, wishing for a little more whisky.

Lupin stared at him for a long moment, and once again Severus had no idea what the man was thinking.

"Severus, you are completely and fully human. You have no trace of monstrosity in you, aside from that which you willingly choose to indulge in."

"Oh yeah, that's right, you're the monster, aren't you, Lupin? Except that you get to stop being a monster, you don't have to stay one more than one night a month."

"This has gone on long enough," Lupin said shortly. He emptied the contents of the small vial he'd brought into the repaired whisky glass, and handed it to Severus. "Drink this. Now."

Severus sniffed it. Even drunk, long years as the Dark Lord's official potionsmaster and unofficial poisoner had taught him never to trust any unknown substance, from anyone. It looked and smelled innocuous, however, so he downed it.

"Merlin!" he swore, as the room came suddenly into focus, and a pounding headache replaced the not unpleasant fogginess of a few moments before.

"Your sobriety potion. Mundungus doesn't like it either, but I never expected to dose _you_ with it, Severus."

"I've got the mother of all hangovers," Severus growled, massaging his temples angrily. It occurred to him that the next time he brewed up that particular potion he might consider numbing the after-effects. Going from drunk to hung-over in nothing, flat was unpleasant.

"As I was saying," Lupin said in his obnoxiously pleasant voice, "You are not a monster. As someone with intense personal knowledge, I hope you will believe me, because I assure you, Severus, unless you decide to sprout horns and a tail right now, you are most certainly human. You've just tried to deny the fact that you, like every other human, are susceptible to emotion."

Severus stared at Lupin, wishing that he'd disappear. "Stop trying to analyze me, Lupin. You think I like being here, in Black's house, with Potter's spawn, confronted by their pet werewolf? Think again."

Lupin pounded his fist on the table, anger suffusing his usually calm features. "Damn it, Snape, I know you're an insensitive, sadistic bastard but unless you haven't noticed, we're on the same side! If you want to know why you're not a monster, it's because you chose to stop being one! You had a choice, and you chose rightly!"

"So it's back to Snape, is it? Why don't you say what you're thinking, _Lupin_, and call me Snivellus?" Severus was standing now, angry and nauseous and miserable.

Lupin stood too, and faced the hung-over Potionsmaster. Lupin wasn't an intimidating man, and he was rarely angry, but the dangerous look in his eyes was so unusual it made Severus wary. In a clipped tone of voice, Lupin said, "You have behaved childishly today, Severus. You have always had that weakness in regards to Harry, for which I cannot entirely blame you, but your actions today were ridiculous. You took the words of a grief-stricken _teenager_ to heart, you sulked the entire afternoon and evening, and you've now decided to dredge up arguments that should have died long ago! Pull yourself together, man!"

With a roar of frustration, Severus wheeled away from Lupin, his robes swirling about him, and leaned against the wall, trying not to let his anger get out of control. "I am no child to be chastised, Lupin, and I do not need your company now. Leave me!"

"I shall not leave. I am on duty for the Order, as the official liaison for those members out in the field. Your duties ended several hours ago, when you were supposed to discharge Harry at the Weasleys' home. It is you who ought to have left, but you are here now. You deserve to feel like a child, Severus, because you are behaving like one. Pull yourself together!"

Breathing heavily, Severus turned to face Lupin again. Remus Lupin was still angry, but he had calmed slightly, and Severus thought he could see concern mingled with the indignation on his colleague's face. Severus reflected grimly that both of them were prematurely aged – himself from his involvement with the Dark Lord; Lupin from his lycanthropy. They were both tired old men, miserable and lonely, and both very angry at each other.

"You have no comprehension of what I think and feel, Lupin. I tell you once again, leave me. I have no desire for your company. The presence of one monster in this room is enough, don't you think?"

"Stop blaming yourself for Sirius's death," Lupin said. "You are not responsible. Harry will come to realize this eventually, when he stops blaming himself, too."

"Black has only himself to blame for his death!" Severus roared. "Why his sins should be expunged on death, leaving the rest of us floundering to cast blame, when he charged foolishly into the battle as if he thought he were immortal –"

Severus couldn't find any further words, so he fell silent, and stared at the fire.

Lupin spoke, slowly. "Black wasn't a monster, either, Severus. We are none of us monsters. We are what we chose, and what we were born, and in the end, that's human." He began to pace the room, speaking with more vigor.

"I was bitten by a werewolf, and from the age of seven on I was a monster. Fair? No, of course not, but true. Sirius! Sirius was born into a family that specialized in genteel monstrosity, and he shared their blood and their breeding. He was a Black, but he was also a good man, and if he showed himself more as a Black than as a good man at times, it proves that he is human, and not a monster.

"You, Severus? You were thrown to the wolves when you came to Hogwarts, hunted and hounded by boys who would just as soon be monsters as men, and if they turned you monstrous, you turned yourself back to a MAN when you chose the Light."

Lupin stopped pacing, and stared at the back of Severus Snape, at the long black robes that fell from tired shoulders. "We are none of us monsters," Lupin said again.

Severus turned to Lupin, half his face still in shadow from the firelight, and said, "Thank you, Lupin. I am and shall always be as black as I'm painted."

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**Author's Notes:** There. I don't write slash, but then, you can read whatever the hell you want into that conversation between Lupin and Snape. For all I know, they harbor deep and unrequited love for each other, which will bloom despite all odds in the middle of a desperate war, neither one of them wanting to admit their passion for fear of losing the object of their affection in the midst of the terrible struggle that surrounds me.

Excuse me while I vomit.

Anyway, reviews would be lovely, and concrit is desperately needed, since this is my first time writingunadulterated angst.


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